Ours Verse 3: Troubled Times
by KeelieThompson1
Summary: The obligatory 5 1 in the obligatory alpha omega verse with obligatory Sherlock whump! Five ways Sherlock tried to deal with his nightmares. Sequel to 'Desperate Times' and 'Emotional Times'.


Troubled Times

Or

The obligatory 5+1 in the obligatory alpha omega verse with obligatory Sherlock whump!

Five ways Sherlock tried to deal with his nightmares.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has been following this verse. There will be one more story in it, jumping time and taking snapshots from the family as the kids grow up. :)

* * *

Living with John and the children again was wonderful. Brilliant even. His children were all dazzlingly smart and clever (which of course they were always going to be) and endlessly fascinating.

But being back with his omega did raise one great problem. John wanted to help. Sherlock had been perfectly content to pretend there was nothing to be helped with – his family was a refuge from those years away, from the things he had been forced to do and the things that had been done to him and winning them back had encompassed everything else.

And now there was nothing to distract him from it the nightmares returned with a vengeance.

So naturally, he had to find a way to get rid of them.

* * *

**Talking about it**

John watched him with shadowed, concerned eyes as he stroked a hand down Sherlock's back. They were lying next to each other in the bed, side by side as John turned to face Sherlock and watch his hand.

John wanted to say something, it was clear from the expression on his face.

"Yes."

John slid a hand under his head, propping himself up a little. "Yes?"

"Yes."

He could see the temptation in John's eyes to make it into a joke, to lighten the mood and try to pull a smile from Sherlock. But three years of not being able to play the doting omega had taken its toll and John frowned instead. "A…you were whipped?"

"As I already said," Sherlock replied, shoving at the pillow under his head to get the best angle to lean upon.

"Viciously," John murmured, his hand still tracing the scars. "We had a kid come in once who'd been tortured in Afghanistan. He had something like this."

"Mm," Sherlock said, non-committedly.

"Your feet have burn marks."

Sherlock made the mistake of closing his eyes, suddenly able to see the red hot iron they had used. "Yes."

"Do you talk about it?" John asked, hand changing to soothing strokes over his back.

"Yes."

"But not with me?"

Sherlock turned his head to gaze into John's darkened, concerned eyes. "I don't want to bring them into our home," he said slowly. "I…I want to forget. Delete it."

"I don't think it works like that," John said softly.

No, Sherlock knew it didn't work like that. It hardly stopped him from illogically hoping though. "One step at a time," he said, turning his head away.

"You stride," John pointed out and Sherlock could almost feel the deliberate breath his mate took to change the topic and put Sherlock more at ease. "You leap," he added. "You never just step. Far too boring for you," he said, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's nape.

"Mm. Which is why I need you to step into the kitchen and make coffee," Sherlock ordered imperiously.

"Not next door to it anymore," John reminded him. "You go, it's more of a leap."

"Lazy," Sherlock complained. "I am your alpha and I say you get me coffee."

All he received was a swat on his arse.

* * *

_The soles of his feet were sensitive and the pain made something fierce pull at his stomach as he wriggled, desperate to escape. But the bonds kept him steadily in place and helpless._

_He hated that almost as much as the pain._

"_John," he whined._

"_Your real name."_

"_John," he pleaded. He was fine, he was still fighting as long as he kept John and the children safe. The thought soothed him ever so slightly._

_They pressed again, harder, hotter and he begged to be released. _

_Or to die._

"_John-_"

He was snapped out of the nightmare by a scream. Arms were around him, holding him tight as John rocked them back and forth while Teagan stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and horrified.

"Shush," John was whispering. "It's okay, you're safe. You're home and safe."

"Teagan-"

"I know," John murmured. "Leave it to me, just concentrate on breathing. In and out, deep breaths."

But his daughter-

"Sherlock," John snapped. "Focus on me. Nothing else.

Obediently, Sherlock concentrated on slowing his breathing and taking in calm gulps of air.

"See," John said in a gentle voice to Teagan. "Dad was just having a bad dream. He's all better now."

Teagan stepped close and peered at them both with wide eyes. "You were shouting," she said, reaching out a gentle hand to stroke his arm. "You were shouting for Daddy."

Trembling, Sherlock picked her up and pulled her close.

They were safe. He hadn't failed, he had kept them safe.

With that knowledge haunting him, and under John's watchful eye with Teagan in his arms, he fell asleep as the guilt churned away at him.

* * *

"Was it the questions?" John asked the next day during a rare quiet moment.

"Probably."

"They'll ask them," John said slowly. "The kids. They're too much like you not to."

Sherlock said nothing.

* * *

**The Work.**

Losing himself in his work seemed like a good idea and it had the added bonus of being away from John at the moment. His mate had less time than ever to accompany Sherlock and, for the moment, Sherlock was rather happy with that situation.

It gave him space.

Lestrade, once he had got over his whole issue of feeling put out over Sherlock's 'death', had allowed him back on cases. Slowly the rest of the force was following suit and he delighted in the cases again; of having games to play that didn't have serious consequences…for him anyway.

For the most part.

"Got a case," Lestrade said over the phone as Sherlock plucked a worm out of Phin's hand before the three year old could eat it.

"Text me the address," Sherlock ordered. "Haven't you learned by now?"

* * *

He turned up at the house and stopped in the doorway.

Omega, kidnapped almost four hours ago. Alpha frantic, offspring hurt, already in hospital-

"Thank god," Lestrade said, spotting him. "You took an hour to get here."

Leaving the flat wasn't quite as easy as it had once been. Especially when your youngest son didn't quite grasp the concept that you did not exist for the sole purpose of carrying him around all day.

"We need you to work out who took the omega. The alpha is a lawyer and reckons it could be someone he pissed off. A revenge thing-"

It was.

Sherlock set to work.

* * *

They found the omega. Raped, dehydrated and burning with fever and terror, a bond mark gouged deep into the back of his neck.

"Fuck," Lestrade breathed as trained officers rushed forward to help. Sherlock backed off. The last thing the omega needed was another alpha around.

"He'll survive," the paramedic told him. "They've got a long journey ahead though."

* * *

It didn't really register, or at least he didn't consciously allow it to register until he fell asleep. John was out of the bed, sitting with Callum who hadn't been well (and who had proudly announced to Sherlock that he had pooped milkshake earlier).

But something must have been sparked because the nightmares hit with horrific force.

"_You know Holmes' omega's still going? Unbonded now and barren. He'd make for a great fuck, don't you think?_

_Sherlock hung between the chains, exhausted as he let the words pass over him._

"_We could swing back to England. Pick him up. Just him mind, so as not to attract Mycroft Holmes attention. Tie him to the bed in front of this one. We'd know for sure then, wouldn't we?"_

_John. He wanted John._

_They wouldn't do it. They wouldn't dare risk Mycroft's wrath, not when they might not get the money. And they were becoming less and less convinced he was Sherlock Holmes every single day._

"_Or," Hunt said, her voice making his ears prick up. She was the smartest out of the lot, the most dangerous one. "We could just find some alpha, slip Watson fake suppressants and lock them in together."_

_Sherlock forced himself to make no move._

"_Put a camera there, a live feed." Her voice was closer now, next to him as she stroked along his bloody back. "Would you like that?" she crooned. "You're an alpha sweetie, we can feel that. Would you like to watch an omega in a forced heat, pounded at?"_

_He pressed his lips together, struggling not to scream at her._

_Not John, not that._

"_It's a shame he can't be bred," she added, and he could feel her gaze bore into him. "We could have watched him get fat with another baby, another alpha's progeny."_

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

"_You can't," he gasped. "Can't force an omega-"_

"_He's a fucking new age alpha," Sanders said from behind him. "You'll never be able to work out whether it's morals or actual caring that makes him hate the idea."_

_Hunt shot Sanders a furious look and leaned up to Sherlock's ear. "I know it's you," she purred at him. "I just need to convince the others and then I will make you watch as they tear your omega to bits and slaughter your children."_

_John wouldn't let them do that. The thought allowed him to swallow back the retort that brewed and gave him the strength to endure just a little longer._

_But suddenly the omega from today was in front of him, terribly young and terribly vulnerable and, somehow, John._

_No._

_He pulled at the chains, screaming._

_No._

_No-_

When he opened his eyes to John he pushed at him, shoving him down across the bed so that they were the wrong way up, hands frantically tearing at John's clothes to check, to reassure himself that nothing and no-one had been near him. He scented, needing to smell only himself and their children.

He was completely unaware that his nails scratched and tore at John, that he was nipping at his omega frantically, the way a bird might to herd something precious back to safety.

It was only when he came to the barred throat and the rigid tendons as John forced himself to be still and pliant that he regained coherency.

Shaking, he ducked his head under John's chin and kissed at the soft skin there as if he could kiss away the threats that had once been levelled against John. Gingerly, a hand rose to stroke his hair.

"The case?" John asked softly. "Lestrade said that someone had been captured and hurt."

"They threatened you," Sherlock whispered. "They threatened…no-one is allowed to touch you," he added in a ragged breath. "No-one. Ever."

Strong arms wrapped around him and John rearranged them so that Sherlock was practically sitting in his lap.

"I'm safe," John soothed. "No-one touched me but you. I promise you."

"There were others," Sherlock nuzzled at him unhappily, "before me."

"I wasn't yours then," John said, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"Yes you were," Sherlock frowned, raising his head. "You've always been mine."

John's face flashed with an odd sad smile. "True," he said quietly. "So then do you think I'd allow anything in this world to change that? Do you think anything could?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Probably not," he said, settling down a little. "I knew you wouldn't," he added after a moment. "They threatened the children and I knew you wouldn't allow anyone to harm them or you, because our children needed you."

John nodded. "You were right," he soothed. "No way. I defend and you attack."

Sherlock inhaled his brilliant omega's smell; the warmth and invitingness of it. "My omega can look after himself," he repeated, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat.

"Your omega can look after anyone," John grinned. "Including you. Go to sleep. I'll keep watch."

Miraculously, with John watching over him, no more nightmares came that night.

* * *

**Not sleeping**

Sherlock was used to not sleeping. In fact, there had once been a time when he had prided himself on the fact that he could last days without feeling any urge to sleep whatsoever.

When he and John had first bred, Sherlock had secretly preened at the idea that he would not become one of those dull eyed parents that complained bitterly about the lack of sleep they had.

That was until Teagan was born.

It wasn't so much not having sleep as it was not being able to sleep when he wanted to. Children were demanding and (Sherlock was sure he was justified in claiming) his children were even more so than most. Teagan had a vivid imagination, Callum a terrible propensity to get bored in the night, Faith seemed to decide that night time was the perfect time to announce any and all ills and slights of the day and Phin was…well…Phin.

And, as much as Sherlock wished it otherwise, they did not stick to his timetable.

That was the wonderful thing about The Work; he could pick it up and drop it as he pleased, but children…not so much.

Which was why, a week into barely sleeping, Sherlock exploded at them.

It had been over something stupid…or lots of little individual things such as Teagan still not leaving Faith alone about Kitten's name, Callum trying to eat a glue stick to see if it made his food stick to his throat, Phin throwing a strop about the fact that Callum and Teagan had hidden his teddy in a brand new hiding place Sherlock had yet to discover. Faith had set her mind to feeding Kitten and trailing the food all over his experiment which then led to Teagan telling her off which made Faith cry and Callum shove at Teagan who kicked back at him and got Phin who threw an epic strop and knocked over the bottle of blood onto the footprint image that Sherlock had taken just before the rain had come onto the crime scene and washed the original away.

He wasn't particularly aware of what came out of his mouth in his sheer bloody irritation. What he did become aware of was the terror and hurt in their little eyes and the brimming tears as all froze in shock.

Infuriated with himself he kicked at the cupboard door and turned his back to them, bending over the work surface to wrestle his temper back.

"Go upstairs."

John. Thank God. Without a single word, Sherlock straightened and walked out.

* * *

When he got back he made sure it was after midnight so that none of the children would be awake.

He paced all night to keep the nightmares at bay.

* * *

"You need to sleep," John said quietly the next morning as Sherlock brewed the strongest coffee he could lay his hands on.

And he'd searched London since the shops had opened.

"I have things to do," Sherlock dismissed.

"You scared them," John said, studying the ruined experiment.

"They were misbehaving," Sherlock argued weakly. "They're undisciplined."

Deliberately, John pushed a beaker with a lone finger and it shattered over the table. "Thank God their alpha father has returned to keep them all in line," he said in a deceptively calm voice.

Sherlock stared at his fingers. "They ruined my work," he said, irritation seeping over him again.

"Accidently. You let them play in the kitchen." John's finger stroked the next tube. "Their discipline should not depend on your mood, Sherlock."

"I don't have time-"

"You scare them more when you're tired than when you scream in fear," John said, looking at him. "I can forgive you being haunted Sherlock, I can forgive you shouting the house down from a nightmare. Shouting at them, like that, scaring them like that…you fought hard to get us back Sherlock. Don't ruin it."

"You have no idea what I see when I close my eyes," Sherlock hissed.

"No," John said, pulling his finger back. "But I can damn well tell you what every one of our children saw last night."

And, with that, he walked out.

* * *

That night Sherlock crawled into bed as John read his book.

And his wonderful omega didn't say a word, but instantly curled up around him and stroked his hair. "I'll watch you. Do you want me to wake you up if you start to show signs?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock nodded, exhausted.

He escaped the nightmares that night.

* * *

**Sex**

Many claimed that alphas and omegas were the last vestiges of a primitive time and that it showed a lack of evolution. Sherlock had sneered at the attitude his entire life, even as he had fought against most of the instincts nature provided him with.

Never had he sought it out to such an extent.

Alpha instincts didn't care about trauma and captivity or torture and guilt. They cared about protecting and providing for their omega and their brood.

Sometimes simpler was better.

So Sherlock looked forward to John's heat. The last one had been perfect, gentle and reverent with adoring nuzzles towards his young children. Giggles and soft skin. He had treasured them and the nightmares hadn't come.

And it started off wonderfully. The smell of John, God the smell, was amazing. Heady and intoxicating, it made Sherlock want to dive right in and breath John in forever. He inspected his mate carefully, enjoying the easy submission as John keened for him and watched him with a trusting expression.

As always he stopped at the scar on John's belly, nuzzling it sadly. His children had been pulled from John early; their fragile little lives at risk because he hadn't been there. Worse, his mate had been in danger and their chance of creating more precious little lives had been taken.

If he had been quicker, smarter, braver perhaps he would have found a way. Perhaps he could have snuck in another child or two. Maybe one with his eyes or with John's nose.

He'd left his mate to those butchers and now they would never know.

He could feel his mate sadden under him and whine apologetically. Desperately, Sherlock moved up John's body, wanting to reassure him. It hadn't been John's fault; he'd been stronger than Sherlock had a right to expect. John was the only omega he could think of that had coped, that had raised their children beautifully in that situation.

Clever mate.

And Sherlock told him, showed him that with every move he made. Cataloguing his omega's body with his tongue and fingers, drawing gasps and murmurs from him. He inspected every smell, every taste as they pushed together and he buried himself within his mate.

Perfect.

They fell asleep twinned against each other.

* * *

_He'd have to seduce the omega._

_The thought made him sick to his stomach. The idea of this…boy, this twenty odd year old idiot, matching up to his John was absurd. His John was brilliant and laughed He had the best smile and those unfathomable blue eyes that Sherlock could never quite decide on a colour to describe them. He was fierce and defiant, strong and unshakable. Not some pretty boy that frittered around, looking over his shoulders in a manner that was meant to be seductive._

_The boy knew the codes though and anything that would take the information from the boy would be far too time consuming and draw far too much attention._

_The omega whore was childless and it seemed would remain so, which was a blessing, Sherlock thought dimly as he followed the boy to the rooms. He'd been told on the way up that he was lucky, that alphas would kill to fuck the omega he was following. Lush and eager, beautiful and sculptured._

_Not real though, and certainly not John. Put the boy next to his mate and the boy would fade away with predictability and blandness. His skin was too soft and reeked of oils whereas John's was a delicious study in texture, interesting, natural-_

_John._

_He made it all the way to the room and then threw up. The boy surprisingly seemed to be sympathetic and Sherlock made up some story about losing his mate to childbirth and the boy looked away. Soon a half sobbed story erupted about a child, a birth gone terribly and an alpha that hadn't wanted a barren omega._

* * *

Someone had to have had his omega.

Had to. How could they not? How could anyone not want John, not see his bravery and strength, his parenting skills, his patience and dry humour? Not smell the deliciousness of him or see the tempting neck and daredevil grin.

Someone had to have tried.

Had to have.

Sherlock pawed at his omega, scenting him again as if he could find the trace.

It had been too long maybe?

It wouldn't be his omegas fault. He had been protecting their children, he'd needed help, been vulnerable. But he was Sherlock's and Sherlock was back now.

He scratched and heard a whine underneath him. He had to…he had to show the world that his omega was claimed.

"Sherlock-"

He ignored his omega. He didn't understand. He had to claim him.

He pushed in frantically and felt his omega arch.

Not enough, not enough.

He started to nip at the nape in front of his face. Small nips to decide where best to place the mark. The most obvious place to show to alphas that his omega was taken and claimed, thank you very much.

"Stop."

His omega was fighting it. No. He had to, had to show the world-

He bit.

* * *

Sherlock sat against the wall, head in his arms and knees up to his chest. His ears were still ringing from the surge of fury that had hit him all the way to A and E, throughout the stitches and then back again.

It was worse than when John had been pregnant with Callum, and that was saying something.

"What the hell was going on in your head?" John demanded and not for the first time. "I can't believe you did this," he hissed in disbelief, touching at the gauze at the back of his neck.

Neither could Sherlock and, as much as he hated it, he couldn't believe how much calmer he felt.

It had been a big bite. A proper chunk out of John's neck.

The other alphas would know how territorial he was and back off.

"I nearly slept with an omega."

John froze.

"For information," Sherlock said blankly, looking up. "The idea made me vomit."

John seemed to struggle to say something. "Then why the hell did you bite me?"

"Because…alphas were queuing up to fuck him and he was nothing compared to you."

John let lose a frustrated sigh. "Sherlock, I can't imagine they were queuing up-"

"They were. He was twenty and young and bendy and made sure everyone knew it. He danced like he was having sex."

Something flashed in John's eyes and then vanished. "I thought you said he couldn't compare to me?"

"He couldn't, he wasn't brave or independent or interesting."

John softened and sighed as he sat on the bed and faced Sherlock. "I told you-"

"I can't believe it." Sherlock held up a hand as John glared at him. "I believe you're telling the truth, I just don't understand how. I…I don't want you to have to fight them off. I want them to see that I will tear them apart with my teeth and bare hands should they approach."

John closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure how you can believe I'd be fighting them off," he said with an odd smile. "Sherlock, in omega age, I should be a grandfather by now."

"Your point?" Sherlock asked blankly.

John hissed in annoyance. "I want to be so angry with you," he muttered. "Yet you're sitting there like you're crushed with guilt, telling me that I'm more attractive to you than a fresh twenty year old omega and that you're so utterly convinced by all this that you feel the need to bite me to scare off other alphas not because I'm a wilting willow but because I shouldn't have to fight them off."

There was an odd smile. Like John was happy about something he didn't want to be happy about. "Good?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

John winked at him. "Don't do it again though," he warned.

Sherlock shook his head ardently. "I won't. That bite was an excellent one. I clearly have exceptional jaw strength and a large knot to hold you in place during it."

John pulled a face. "And you were this close to sleeping in the bed tonight," he said with a sad shake of his head. "As it is I think I'll enjoy watching you sleep on that sofa."

Sherlock fell asleep to John's slow repetitive typing and the occasional glance from those wonderful dark blue eyes.

No more nightmares came to him that night.

* * *

**Exhaustion**

Having four young Holmes children was exhausting in itself. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure how John had managed to get to the end of each year on his own having kept all of them alive, but clearly his mate was slightly super human.

Vaguely he remembered that when he'd tried not to sleep, he'd been so tired when John had finally forced him to sleep that there hadn't been any nightmares at all.

There was a possible cure there…

"Have a week off," Sherlock offered.

John, who was still wincing at the bandaged bite, shot him a suspicious look. "I'm sorry?"

"You. I'll look after the children. You can…do whatever it was you used to do in your spare time."

"Clean up after you?" John asked doubtfully.

"Before you met me," Sherlock remedied.

There was an amused look on John's face. "Fight a war?"

"That was your job."

"Ah," John nodded seriously. "Well…if I do what I used to do in my spare time, I fear I will have no neck left!"

Two weeks ago, Sherlock might have brooded about that for a few hours. Now he glanced at the gauze and hid his satisfied smirk.

No-one was going to touch his omega with that bite on his neck.

"If you keep looking at it with pride I swear to God I am going to bite something of yours," John muttered. "And it won't be above your neck."

Wincing a little at the thought, Sherlock shifted. "Pick a hobby and do that then."

"Sherlock-"

"Think of it as preparation. Sooner or later I will have to be left on my own with the children for more than a day."

"Okay," John nodded. "Have them. Attempt to survive with your sanity in check."

"You survive."

"You got me onto a crime scene by saying it would be dangerous and to bond with you be telling me to turn around on the stairs. What on earth makes you think I started this sane?"

* * *

Three days in and the flat was a mess, the children were on first name basis with the delivery man and John had crescent shaped indents in the palms of his hands.

The nightmares still came.

On the fourth day he woke to a spotless flat, four oddly calm children, breakfast and an apologetic John.

"I can't," John said shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I just cannot watch that. It's like watching surgery being done with flints or…Anderson solving a case."

Well, he didn't have to be so utterly insulting about it.

* * *

**Family**

It had been a bad case; some idiotic doctor had attempted to experiment turning an alpha into an omega through various 'medical procedures' and had been scattering his 'failed attempts' over the Thames.

He went for the sofa, hoping that some distance between him and his family would help a little.

* * *

"_Dead?"_

"_Dying," Hunt said with a sigh. "Mustn't have been him after all. Shame. Always wanted to meet Sherlock Holmes."_

_You will, he thought darkly. You will and you will scream._

_Weighted, they threw him into the river and he started to sink._

_He had to go underwater to escape, he had to be submerged enough that they wouldn't see. He had to hold his nerve, to wait._

_He was drowning, the material sticking to his face-_

He launched for the surface and blinked at the ceiling and then down.

Somehow, someway, he was on the floor, on top of a thick duvet and surrounding him were the children and John.

They weren't on him; John must have learned at some point that restraint merely threw Sherlock further into the dream. Instead they were scattered around him, their clean, fresh little smells calming him subconsciously and their soft baby snores lulling him back to sleep.

"Alpha instincts," John said quietly from where he was sitting, watching them all. "The smells, the sounds. It's how we would have slept back in the days when we would have been renting a cave."

"John-"

"Go to bed next time," John added, stretching out. "They all thought it was terribly exciting to sleep on the floor. It was bloody murder getting the brats to actually sleep."

Sleep. He smoothed a hand over Teagan's back and then Phin's face as he slept almost on top of his big sister. Sleep sounded good suddenly.

"Lie with me," he asked John, holding out a hand.

John studied him, then crawled forward, neatly avoiding their children until he sat by Sherlock's head. "Sleep," he ordered gently, lifting Sherlock's head into his lap. "I'll keep watch."

"You keep saying that," Sherlock mumbled.

"You never have a bad dream when you know I'm awake and with you," John replied gently.

He hadn't even realised.

* * *

There you are. Next and last installment will be 'Baffling Times'.


End file.
